


Distraction

by rockinhamburger



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-08 01:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10375071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockinhamburger/pseuds/rockinhamburger
Summary: It starts with a fruit basket.-A story of how the press reacts when you have a famous NHL hockey player for a fiancé and an opinion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic offering for this fandom. Not at all nervous. Nope.

It starts with a fruit basket.

He answers the door to the delivery of a fruit basket, stuffed to the brim with small containers of blueberries, strawberries, and raspberries, a box of peaches, and a small barrel of apples.

Eric’s first thought is Jack. It’s exactly the kind of thoughtful grand gesture he’d offer, a delivery for Eric to discover while Jack’s at morning skate. There’s no reason for it - it’s not his birthday or their anniversary or Valentine’s Day - but Jack does sometimes (often) give Eric gifts without an occasion. 

But when he finds a card nestled in with the peaches, it's not from Jack at all. It says:

_A gift of thanks. May your pies be delicious._  
Love,  
Bob  & Alicia __

__The problem is, Eric can’t think of a single thing they might be grateful for._ _

__While he's puzzling over this turn of events, Eric's phone rings. Shitty’s name comes up on his caller ID. A bit surprised, considering that it's before noon on a Saturday, he answers, “Shitty?”_ _

__“YOU BEAUT! YOU ABSOLUTE BEAUT!”_ _

__Eric pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing at the volume. “What on earth are you so excited about, Mr Knight!?”_ _

__“The interview, duh!”_ _

__“Interview?” Eric’s at a loss. He wracks his brain, trying to think of what interview Shitty could possibly be talking about, but he hasn’t done an interview in weeks._ _

__“WHAT!? Turn on ESPN, dude!”_ _

__His breath is snatched right out of him. "E - excuse me? ESPN?" Eric springs into action, heart pounding as he frantically searches for the remote in the couch cushions. “What interview, Shitty?” he gasps._ _

__“I don’t know what it was for, man, some kind of YouTube thing, but you’re in your kitchen. I can’t believe you don’t remember, you BEAUT! You slayed that interviewer!”_ _

__Oh. Oh, it can't be. Eric curses, still trying to find the damned remote. He bends down to look under the table and lets out a cry of joy as he finally locates it underneath the couch where it must have fallen during his makeout session with Jack last night._ _

__Eric’s face is on the screen when he finally switches to ESPN, and there’s a scroller on the bottom that reads: _Bittle, fiancé of Falconers’ Zimmermann, goes toe-to-toe with the press._ The words send a swoop of unpleasant sensation through his stomach. _ _

__There’s someone talking, and Bitty scrambles to unmute the television. The reporter’s mid-sentence when the sound comes on: “--pretty rare to see something like this. We'll play the clip again and then I want to hear what you make of it, Ed, and what it might mean going forward.”_ _

__“Bitty?” Shitty's still on the line._ _

__“I’m watching, hang on!” Bitty squeaks as the interview starts up._ _

__Sure enough, it's the interview he suspected. It’s an interview from about six months ago, one he did with a YouTube sports channel; in it, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter of his and Jack’s apartment, and the guy interviewing him is leaning against the counter next to him and holding a microphone between them._ _

__The interviewer asks, “So, what did you think of your fiancé’s performance during last night’s game against the Rangers? That upset at the last second - that’s gotta be tough to cope with as a couple. Do you ever have to talk him off the ledge? We all know Jack Zimmermann's history, especially when he's under pressure.”_ _

__The camera closes in on Eric’s face just as an ice-cold mask of faux-politeness takes over. Terrified, Eric watches himself let out an even icier laugh, one with zero genuine mirth. “Oh, _bless your heart_ , what a _question_.” Interview-Eric’s words are clipped and full of passive aggression. “Goodness, I thought this interview was gonna be about my time at Samwell and about hockey in general, maybe about my baking vlog that I'm promoting, but I guess you couldn’t resist askin’ about Jack. Ya know, I’m always curious about the thinking behind questions like this. You ask about the pressure without drawing any attention to the origin. Jack ain’t the source of the pressure. Jack's been playing professionally since he was a child. I can't believe y'all are surprised. You take these bushy-eyed teenagers and streamline them into a very prestigious and exclusive club in which their entire careers depend on getting picked for the lottery, and then once they’ve _been_ picked, the rest of their career is about not makin' any mistakes and having to answer for it when they do because everything's riding on their ability to be superhuman robots without flaws.”_ _

__Interview-Eric is on a roll. “For the press to pore over every missed scoring chance and what it says about the players' mental health, to scour players’ personal lives for some deep-seated reason for natural mistakes that are a routine part of the game, I think it’s very disingenuous. Jack knows he isn’t solely responsible for any game loss, just as he isn’t uniquely responsible for the wins. But the way some of these questions get phrased, it’s like y’all want it to fall on one person. Jack approaches every game with genuine enjoyment. It’s a job, but it’s one Jack takes seriously and loves with every fibre of his being. So, when you ask me about his history, I can’t help thinking you haven’t been payin' attention. Here’s what I see: Jack's led the League in goals every year since he joined, he contributed to a Stanley Cup win last year, and he's the first out hockey player in the NHL. He's also overcome a lotta negativity and doubts to get where he is. I couldn’t be more proud of him."_ _

__And one final sentence: “I say, turn the camera inward and ask yourself, if you think players need to be talked off the ledge, who the hell pushed ‘em to it?”_ _

__The interview ends, and Eric stares, heart thrumming in his chest, mind steadily filling with fuzz._ _

__“Bitty?”_ _

__“ _Oh my god._ ”_ _

__“Hey hey hey,” Shitty says. “You with me, Bits? Come on, focus on my voice.”_ _

__Eric can hardly breathe. “Oh god. _Jack_.”_ _

__“Jack will be fine, I’m worried about you. Breathe, Bitty. In, out. Come on.” Eric sits down shakily and starts to breathe along with Shitty’s count, shaking his hands out to get rid of the tremor in them. “Talk to me, Bitty.”_ _

__“They - they said,” Bitty starts, sucks in a few more breaths. “They said they wouldn’t post the video. And I - I just assumed they wouldn’t since it might make the interviewer look bad. _Oh god_.”_ _

__“Hey, you’re alright,” Shitty says soothingly. “Everything’s going to be okay. First of all, it’s being received very well outside from a few motherfuckers, okay?”_ _

__Eric expels a ragged breath. “It is?”_ _

__“Yes, you beaut. Lots of hockey wives retweeting you to cosign. Lots of players and ex-players are lovin' on you, too.”_ _

__“Bob,” Bitty gasps. “That’s why. God, I can’t believe this. I’m on ESPN.”_ _

__“Yeah you are,” Shitty crows. “Alright, I’m coming down to see you. It’ll be a few hours, but I’m on my way.”_ _

__“Shitty, no, you don’t have to,” Eric says firmly, already feeling a little better, if still in a state of relative shock._ _

__“I want to. You go bake a pie and wait for things to settle. I’ll see you in a few.”_ _

__The phone cuts out on Shitty’s end. Eric lets the phone drop to the couch and stares helplessly at the television._ _

__“...this just in, we’ve got Bob Zimmermann by phone, ready to comment on his future son-in-law’s statements in this now-viral interview.” Eric jolts to his feet, mouth gaping open. “Bob, thanks for calling in.”_ _

__“Bien sûr, thanks for having me.”_ _

__God, just hearing Bob’s voice is a little soothing. Eric clutches his chest over where his heart is pounding rapidly._ _

__“Bob, what do you have to say about all this? I’m sure this has been a significant morning for you, considering Eric Bittle is your son’s fiancé, but can we get your hot take?”_ _

__“You sure can, John. Let me just say first that Eric Bittle is a member of our family, and even though they aren’t married yet he and Jack are about as official as you can get. Eric’s made my son a very happy man, and we are so grateful for what they have given each other.”_ _

__Eric might actually faint. He sits down again, just in case._ _

__“As for my thoughts on the interview, I’d have to say... it’s about time, don’t you think, John? You know what I mean. Those of us who are so familiar with the game and everything that comes with it, we struggle to articulate all that, and we know there might be consequences to saying it, but Eric's someone who knows the game well from his own days of captaining the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team. He knows what he's talking about.”_ _

__Over Bob’s voice, on the phone, Eric watches in wonder as footage of him playing for Samwell starts to loop on the screen. There's a clip of one of his clutchest of goals, one of his spinoramas, another of a particularly difficult assist. Eric shakes his head in disbelief, cannot believe what he's seeing._ _

__“Like I said, he knows the ins and outs of the game,” Bob’s saying, “but he also sees it from the perspective of a partner, someone like my wife, Alicia, and the significant partners of many hockey players in the League. They support us through it all, they see how tough the pressure can be, so it’s hard for them not to be protective. We all respect and appreciate the press and their coverage of what we do, of course, but it’s hard living in that pressure cooker all the time. It's great to hear someone talking about it.”_ _

__“Thanks for your take, Bob. I know my wife was pretty impressed about it over breakfast. Now, how do you think this will impact the League and the game?”_ _

__“Well, that remains to be seen, but I’ll be interested to see how everyone responds.”_ _

__A series of notification pings bring Eric's attention back to his phone, which is blowing the fuck up. His mentions have gone hogwild; he can’t keep up._ _

__His phone rings again. It’s his Mama. _Oh god_ , he can’t talk to her, not right now. And it’s a good thing he doesn’t because next moment there’s a jiggle of the lock and Jack’s pushing inside the apartment. Eric leaps up from the couch, heart pounding again._ _

__Jack drops his equipment bag on the floor, shuts the door behind him, and just stares at Eric._ _

__He hasn’t moved from the living room in over an hour. “Jack.”_ _

__“Bits,” Jack whispers in a voice that seems far too reverent for the situation, and then he’s on Eric; they collide in the middle, clinging. “I can’t believe--”_ _

__“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Eric says tearfully. “They told me they wouldn’t post the interview, and I just took ‘em at their word. I - I shouldn’t have-"_ _

__“Hey,” Jack says, cupping Eric’s face in his hands and turning it up to gaze down at him. Eric takes in every detail of Jack’s beautiful, tender expression, soaks it in. “Please don’t apologize. It was - god, it was maybe the most romantic thing I’ve ever-”_ _

__“Romantic!?”_ _

__“You had my back,” Jack says, simple as that. Eric’s lip trembles; he tries to stop it, but he can’t. Jack brings their mouths together. “You’re amazing, Bitty. Did I ever thank you for agreeing to marry me?”_ _

__Eric laughs shakily, still somewhat unbalanced, and returns the pressure of Jack’s lips. "A couple of times, I think," he teases. Then he pulls back. “Your folks sent me an honest-to-god fruit basket.”_ _

__Jack kisses him again, says distractedly, “Oh yeah?” before pushing Eric onto the couch and starting to pull off his own running shoes. Once they're off, he crouches on his knees and leans in to kiss Eric again, this time with quite the hint of suggestion._ _

__Eric gasps, starting to feel the stirrings of arousal. “Your - your dad was on ESPN.”_ _

__“Mm?” Eric’s not sure Jack even heard him; he’s busy undoing the drawstring of Eric's shorts and pulling them clean off. Eric whimpers as they pull over his hardening cock, and he unwittingly arches his back._ _

__“Jack,” he moans. “Jack, shouldn’t we talk about this? About how we're gonna handle this, PR wise?”_ _

__Jack pulls Eric to the edge of the couch and arranges Eric's legs around his broad shoulders before sucking Eric right down to the root._ _

__“Oh!” Eric shouts. “Oh, _shit_!”_ _

__Jack moans around Eric's cock and pulls ever-so-slowly back up and off. “Talk later,” he grunts, his voice already rough from the work his throat's doing. Eric feels a little light-headed, can’t find any coherent words. “First, I need you to fuck my mouth as hard as you can, because you turn me on like nothing else.”_ _

__The sound Eric lets out at that is embarrassingly loud._ _

__Jack gets right back to it, immediately sucking Eric’s cock down so that the head of it is lodged in his throat. He swallows, and Eric keens and thrusts into the warm wet heat. Jack groans, and Eric clutches the back of Jack's head and starts thrusting madly. “Fuck, yeah, _Jack_ \- oh, you’re so good,” he groans._ _

__Jack swallows again and hums, stuffing his mouth full of Eric and then pulling off, again and again until Eric’s muscles are clenching from the effort not to come, his hands balled into fists around tufts of Jack’s hair and his toes curled where they’re hanging over Jack’s shoulders. Jack shoves Eric’s cock all the way down his throat again and groans deeply from his chest, and that is _it_._ _

__Jack crawls up onto the couch next to Eric, who pants his way through trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs. Eric cuts his gaze over and sees that Jack's already come, some time while he was deep throating Eric, and that is so hot it’s enough to make Eric wince from a small twinge of arousal in his spent dick._ _

__“Wow.” Eric’s still trying to catch his breath. “That was - was that for the interview?”_ _

__“Mmm,” Jack hums, and then he pulls Eric into his arms, with Eric's back to his chest, and settles them into the couch. He kisses Eric's ear and says, softly, "For the interview, sure, but for everything. You're my favourite person, you know that?"_ _

__Eric can't even handle the flood of affection that sweeps through him at these words. "Mr Zimmermann," Eric sighs._ _

__The television’s still on. There’s a new reporter on screen now, and he’s talking to a panel of four guests. They're showing muted footage of Eric's interview, mixed with more of his Samwell hockey highlights, and even a few excerpts from videos on his baking vlog. Eric's head is spinning, but he can’t stop himself from watching. From the quiet on Jack’s end, Jack seems to be similarly engaged._ _

__“...is this a distraction from the game?” the host is asking._ _

__“Of course,” one panelist jumps right in. “You know, we’re two months out from the playoffs, so this is absolutely a distraction, one that-”_ _

__“Yeah, two months, not two weeks,” another panelist cuts in, clearly trying not to roll her eyes. Eric finds himself smiling._ _

__“Let me finish,” the first says. “I’m sure the Falconers’ management and coaching staff won’t be too happy about the way this story is dominating the news and taking attention away from their playoff standings. This is yet another instance of that Zimmermann kid pulling the focus from the sport and onto his personal life.”_ _

__Eric hisses angrily and is about to reach for the remote to change the channel when Jack pulls him back. “It’s okay, Bits. They’re talking about people they think they know; they’re not really talking about us.”_ _

__Eric has to kiss him for that. When they come up for air, there's a lot of crosstalk: _'He's not a kid, Stu_ ', and _'it's not really about his personal life, though, is it?' _____

____The host directs his question to a different panelist: "Lilian, do you think Bittle's interview is a distraction from the sport?"_ _ _ _

____“Thank you," she says. "You know, we talk about distractions a lot. But let me just point out the difference in this case: Eric Bittle was doing an interview for his own professional work when a reporter asked about Zimmermann’s performance and how they cope with the pressure to succeed, as a couple. Bittle gave an honest answer, and I don’t think it’s fair for the media to be calling it a distraction when we're this eager to jump in on the discussion and make it work to our advantage.”_ _ _ _

____"She's got a point," Jack chuckles, and he kisses behind Eric's ear, dragging his nose along Eric's jawline. Eric runs his palms along Jack's forearms and hums in agreement._ _ _ _

____He may just have to send that panelist a fruit basket.____

 _ _ _ _-____

 _ _ _ _They’re accosted by reporters as soon as they begin moving from the car to the restaurant for the post-game dinner with Jack’s teammates and their partners. At first, they weren't sure how best to respond to questions about the interview; it hasn't even been a week since the interview's release, and the press is still desperate for statements. Jack's been avoiding the post-game interviews, and thankfully both games the Falconers won (which Eric feels especially delighted by)._ _ _ _

____Eric hasn't had a run-in with the press, until now. Jack grabs Eric’s hand, and Eric squeezes it in return as they carefully manoeuver through the crowd and the questions to reach the restaurant._ _ _ _

____“Zimmermann, how did you react to your fiancé's comments?”_ _ _ _

____“Zimmermann, can we get a statement about your reaction to all the buzz?”_ _ _ _

____They keep walking, dutifully ignoring the questions._ _ _ _

____“Bittle! Hey, Bittle, what do you have to say to all those who think you should just stick to what you know instead of commenting on hockey?”_ _ _ _

____Bitty pulls up short and turns to the reporter who asked that last question. He gives the reporter a faux-sunny smile and says, “Bless your heart.”_ _ _ _

____And then he tugs gently on Jack’s hand, turns his back on the press, and leads the way into the restaurant._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
